Kurufinwe and Arakano
by Cirdan
Summary: Fic about Celebrimbor and Argon. gasp And yes, Argon is a main character.


Standard disclaimer: All the characters, locations, some quotes, and the initial conception of this world belong to J.R.R. Tolkien, whether it be from Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, Unfinished Tales, or The History of Middle-earth Volumes I-XII. This is based, in part, off the Gondolin RPG in the Livejournal community.  
  
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Kurufinwe and Arakano  
  
"Will you just sit down?" Celebrimbor said, his voice belying his impatience.  
  
Argon slashed at the air with his sword. "No. No, I will not sit down. Why do I have to take this sitting down?"  
  
"Swinging your sword will not get you what you want. Nor will waving your arms in a gym room." (See Mouse's Real Men Wear Jewelry.) Celebrimbor feigned disinterest but was watching Argon from the corner of his eye.  
  
"What do you suggest, Feanor-look-alike?" Argon asked. He took a seat by Celebrimbor and moved his face close to the other's so that he couldn't be ignored. Celebrimbor set his book aside and faced Argon.  
  
"I would use my dashingly good looks to convince Cirdan to write a fanfic," Celebrimbor said calmly.  
  
Argon sneered. "Only, she has a preference for Feanorians. I'm the Fingolfin-look-alike. She won't work for me. And with the Gondolin RPG still in progress, she won't want to write anything that might be at odds with it." His knuckles turned white as he gripped the hilt of his sword. He was obviously quite ready to start taking his annoyance out on the straw dummies again.  
  
"There's still hope." Celebrimbor put a hand on Argon's shoulder. "She seems genuinely fond of you. Already, she has established that you're the most skilled swordsman of the three sons of Fingolfin."  
  
The light shone in Argon's eyes for a moment, but then he shook his head. "No, she doesn't write fanfics anymore, and that's doubly true for long ones. It would require too much time to explain why I am the King of Gondolin in place of my brother. Readers don't even know who I am! I only show up in the twelfth book of the Histories of Middle-earth."  
  
"You despair too quickly," Celebrimbor chided. "It would not be that difficult to establish the backstory. You are Argon, youngest and tallest son of Fingolfin and most beloved by your father. You were said to have died in the Battle of Lammoth, but you were only injured, and your recovery was kept secret to protect you from the eyes of the Dark Lord. In the Dagor Nirnaeth, Lord Glorfindel of the Golden Flower rescued you when trying to save Fingon. When Turgon left to try to fly to Aman upon an eagle of Manwe in order to beg for help from the Valar, you took the throne of Gondolin in his place in secret to prevent public panic. Turgon has not returned, and so, unknown to your people, you are in the guise of your brother and the current King of Gondolin. There. Was that so difficult to explain?"  
  
"It will be more difficult in a fic," Argon complained. "Besides, she'd also have to explain that you'd come to Gondolin after the Fall of Nargothrond and that I'd revealed my true identity as Argon rather than Turgon to you and none other."  
  
"My presence in Gondolin is actually easier to explain than yours since I was said to have dwelt in Gondolin and learned from Enerdhil the Jewelwright in the Unfinished Tales. Leave the details to the writer," Celebrimbor advised. "You are only the muse. Your job is to come up with a story idea so intriguing that the writer will want to write it."  
  
"There you have it." Argon drew one of his daggers and threw it at the heart of one of the straw dummies. Of course, it hit its mark dead center. "What story of mine could hold her attention?"  
  
"Set it in her Paradise Lost universe. She won't be able to resist that."  
  
Argon snorted. "Her story in which Feanor initiates the Fortunate Fall so that the Elves could be more glorious after their redemption? In Paradise Lost, Feanor and his sons are the agents of Fate and thus the avatars of Eru. Even the role of Earendil is less important than the deeds of the sons of Feanor."  
  
Celebrimbor sighed in exasperation. "Do you want a fic about you or not?"  
  
Argon pouted. "Well, yes, I do."  
  
"Then leave it in my hands," Celebrimbor said reassuringly. "Come talk to me in the fic, and I'll do the rest."  
  
---  
  
The King of Gondolin summoned the scion of Feanor to the top of Mindon Noldoran, the Tower of the King.  
  
Contrary to the expectations of most, Celebrimbor came.  
  
The grandson of Feanor bowed to the son of Fingolfin.  
  
Celebrimbor bowed and said, "You summoned me, High King of the Noldor?"  
  
The King dismissed the servants before saying, "Let us drop this pretext, Kurufinwe. You know me."  
  
"Argon," Celebrimbor said simply.  
  
"Tyelpe," Argon replied in kind.  
  
"What is it you desire of me?"  
  
"What indeed." Argon looked down at the city. "My brother left Gondolin in my care. I would take the advice of the Messenger of Ulmo and either wage war upon Morgoth or escape down the river of Sirion, yet I know full well that Turgon desires to do neither, trusting in the impregnability of his city. What should I do?"  
  
Celebrimbor shrugged. "The people of Gondolin will follow you regardless of your decision. They believe you to be their king."  
  
Argon gazed coolly at Celebrimbor. "That was not my question. Before we left Tirion, Feanor urged us to come to Middle-earth and defend our kinsmen. He said that our sacrifice would provide the Elves of Valinor with enough time to recover from the corruption of Morgoth and to marshal their forces. Years have passed, and people unnumbered have been slain, yet still the armies of the West have not come. I ask you again: what should I do?"  
  
"Great is the fall of Gondolin," said Celebrimbor, quoting Mandos' Prophecy of the North.  
  
"Great is the victory of the Noldor!" Argon retorted hotly. "What should I do?!"  
  
Celebrimbor's gaze became distant. "If you lead your people out of Gondolin, the Noldor will be victorious, and we shall return to Aman. But Morgoth's poison is strong. Already, too many have forgotten the truth of the Days of Bliss and believe the dark lies about the strife between Feanor and Fingolfin. Civil war will erupt between our families, and the clash will not end until the fair lands of Valinor have been ravished by battle."  
  
"And if we stay cooped up in Gondolin, awaiting certain death?" Argon asked.  
  
"The tragedies that follow will be so great that they shall be graven in the memories of the Elves who return to Aman in sorrow, and even the lies of Morgoth will not be able to stir them to war."  
  
"So I must choose between death in Middle-earth or Aman?" Argon demanded.  
  
Celebrimbor calmly nodded. "That is so."  
  
Argon hit his fist against the balcony guardrail. "Dammit! How can you know this?!"  
  
"The Fate of Arda lay locked within the Silmarils. Feanor saw that Fate and shared his knowledge with me," Celebrimbor said.  
  
Argon smiled wryly. "It was a rhetorical question."  
  
"I know. I thought to answer regardless." Celebrimbor's demeanor remained calm, but his eyes flashed. "What is your decision, Argon?"  
  
Argon sighed. Then his eyes became hard and set. "Let us die here. Those who return to Aman will have peace."  
  
Celebrimbor nodded. "So be it." 


End file.
